


Taylor Chorney's Press Box Adventures

by daddyoshie



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2016-2017 NHL Season, 2017-2018 NHL Season, Gen, Washington Capitals, a good dude but terrible hockey player, a story about scratches, and shenanigans in the press box, chorns is the king of the press box, he makes it his own, presenting: the first and only time you will ever care about taylor chorney
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 07:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daddyoshie/pseuds/daddyoshie
Summary: His companions may change, but over the past few years Taylor Chorney has more or less become a permanent resident of the press box. And now he’s decided to take it up a notch, really spice it up and make it his own. His teammates are gonna be fucking blown away. You know, if they ever get scratched.





	Taylor Chorney's Press Box Adventures

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place during the course of the 2016-17 and 2017-18 Washington Capitals seasons. Huge thanks to cantevenskate for the beta.

Taylor had gotten used to the fact that he was the healthy scratch. He was resigned to it. Of course he wanted to play, but he was okay with this situation. He loved this team, and he loved these guys; they had become his best friends. Plus, he prided himself on being the world’s best cheerleader. He was always positive, he got the guys in a good mood, and he even started leading his own original cheers from the press box, which always got him a lot of dirty looks from the reporters.

The press box had become a second home to him. He knew all the attendants and reporters by name and was always sure to say hi, he knew which seat had the best view and the best air circulation, he knew which tables and chairs had the best stability, he knew all the shortcuts to the bathroom, and he knew where to grab the best food. He suspected he was in here as much as anyone else, and he knew it like the back of his hand.

Then one day, he got an idea. He had always thought that the box was a little drab. And he was up here all the time, so why not personalize it a little? The cogs in his head started to spin. As he looked around, idea after idea popped into his mind. Yes, he could have a lot of fun with this.

* * *

  Zach Sanford always knew that his status for every game was a bit up in the air, but it still stung to get scratched. He knew at this point in his life it was huge just to be up here, but he still wanted to play. So he trudged up to the press box, looking forward to another night of idly chatting with Chorns.

He did not expect to see what was waiting for him.

The first thing that struck his vision was the giant wooden sign on the wall that read _WELCOME TO CHORNEY’S PRESS BOX. Make yourself at home :)_ Zach would have been impressed with the woodwork if he wasn’t so shocked by its presence.

The next thing he noticed were the Christmas lights strung everywhere. All over the walls, hanging from the counter. And they weren’t the crystal-white ones, they were multicolored. Trippy.

And then there was Chorns, who greeted him with a huge smile on his face.

“Sanny! I suspected it was you.”

“What, uhh,” Zach struggled to form the proper words to express his confusion. “What’s going on here? What did you do?”

“Do you like it?” Chorns asked, bouncing off the walls with excitement. “I did it myself. I’m spicing it up a little, first time I’m trying it. What do you think?”

“I uh,” he side-eyed the welcome sign. “I like the lights.”

Zach thought Chorns might burst with joy. “Great! That’s awesome! Sit down, sit down, I have more.”

Zach gingerly took a chair while Chorns pulled out a large, overflowing box from under the counter.

His eyes boggled. “What’s all that?”

“Tools to improve our press box experience.” Chorns started digging through the box. “Let’s see...I’ve got some pillows and blankets, if you get uncomfortable...I’ve got crosswords, sudoku, and a coloring book...along with the classiest array of pens and pencils and colored pencils...oh! And food!” Chorns pulled out a basket from the box. “Hungry? I’ve got protein bars, fruit, crackers, trail mix, beef jerky, and muffins. Oh, and I’ve got your favorite, too. Whoopie pies, right?”

Zach was shocked. Frankly he was surprised when the guys remembered his name, and the fact that someone remembered one of his favorite foods touched him. “Oh, uh, yes, that’s right, thank you.” He gingerly took one from the basket. “Shouldn’t eat too many of these, though, Trotzy will get mad.”

Chorns laughed. “Yeah, probably not. But we gotta keep ourselves occupied up here somehow, eh? What do you want to do? Take your pick of anything.”

Suddenly Zach felt like he was back in school and being forced to speak in front of class. Not a very pleasant feeling, but the box full of activities truly was tempting. “I guess I’ll take some sudoku, for now.”

“Excellent choice!” Chorns handed him the book and a pencil. Zach opened it and started to work on the first puzzle, but he felt Chorns’s all-too-eager gaze boring into his head. He felt like he was an experiment under the microscope.

“Are you gonna, um, do something too?” Zach asked. God, this was so awkward.

Chorns seemed to realize what he was doing. “Oh, of course. Sorry, I want this all to go off without a hitch.”

“Don’t worry too much. This is all amazing,” Zach said.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. Who else would go to these lengths to decorate and stock the press box and improve the hard lives of us scratches? My life has certainly already improved.”

Chorns sat back in his chair, confidence seemingly boosted. “Well, thank you. I’ll keep working to make it even better.”

“Hey, as long as you keep feeding me whoopie pies, I’ll be happy.”

* * *

The giant wooden sign he’d gotten used to. The shiny gold plaque, however, was something else.

“Chorns, what the fuck is that?” Brett asked.

Chorns leaned over and looked at the plaque affixed to the back of his chair. It read _TAYLOR CHORNEY - RESIDENT_.

“I got it made for myself. I figured I basically live here, may as well make it official.”

“Will they let you do that?”

“We’ll see.”

Brett rubbed his temples. “Please tell me that’s not real gold.”

Chorns laughed. “You know I could never afford that. It’s fake, don’t worry.”

For whatever reason, Brett felt incredibly relieved. He took his seat next to Chorns. “Now, what shenanigans are we getting into tonight?”

“Well, we’ve got the usual from the box. But I also have something new tonight.”

Brett felt inexplicably worried. “Okay, what do you have for me?”

Chorns pulled a stack of papers from the box. Not exactly what Brett had anticipated. “Conno, you’ve been my guest a number of times now, so I feel you can appropriately fill this out.”

“...okay?”

Chorns took one of the sheets of paper and placed it on the table in front of Brett. On the top of the page, it read “Press Box Satisfaction Survey.”

“A survey?”

Chorns nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I want you to tell me about your experience and I’ll do what I can to make it better in the future.”

“You’re like a goddam hotel,” Brett grunted as he picked up a pen. “What if I give you a one-star rating?”

“Then you might not be invited back.”

Brett got to filling out the survey. It really did look like every customer service survey he’d ever filled out in his life.

  1. _How would you rate your experience in the press box (1-10)?_
  2. _What was your favorite aspect of your experience?_
  3. _What was your least favorite aspect of your experience?_
  4. _How would you describe your overall experience?_
  5. _Suggestions to enhance future experiences?_
  6. _How would you rate your host, Taylor Chorney?_



By the first intermission, Brett had finished the survey. He slammed down his pen and slid the paper over to Chorns.

“Done? What d’you think?” Chorns asked.

“You’ll have to read the survey. I spent all that time filling it out, you’re gonna fucking read it.”

“You offend me, Conno. Eat your Nanaimo bars.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

The two men spent a few minutes in silence before Chorns ventured another question.

“So what should I add? What do you want me to have here?”

Brett was silent for so long that Chorns thought he didn’t hear him or he was angry at him. But after a moment of thinking, Brett spoke.

“Books,” he said. “Get a book or two. I love to read.”

* * *

The Verizon Center attendants had okayed everything he was doing, but they had one stipulation: because the arena also hosted Wizards games, college games, the Mystics, and concerts, all of his stuff would have to be removable and taken out of the press box after every game.

However, this meant every night he was lugging a big, overflowing box out of the locker room and into the press box with him. He was always the first person off the ice, he changed quickly, and he made his way to the box as soon as he had the opportunity. He liked for the box to be ready for his fellow scratches as soon as they got there.

None of his teammates ever dared to get near him and his box when they were in the locker room. They steered clear. They understood that this was his personal thing, and they let him do it himself. They didn’t want to mess with whatever magic or weird mojo was going on. Everything was done himself, including carrying the box every single day. He got really good at lugging boxes. And walking fast while carrying them.

He couldn’t leave the box in the locker room either. Thus, he was also carrying a box in and out of the arena every day, driving it home, and taking it inside with him and stocking it up. He made a homemade snack every game. Only the best for his teammates.

* * *

“No way, you’ve got _coloring_ in here?” Nate’s eyes opened wide. “Dude, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, I’ve pulled out all the stops. I’ve got puzzles, coloring, blankets, whatever you want. You hungry?” he offered up the basket.

“You have _jello salad_ ?” He thought that Nate might explode. “Aw man, you are the fucking _best_ , Chor.”

Taylor brushed it off. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just trying to make the box a little more fun.”

“A little? Dude, it’s a party up in here!” Nate exclaimed. “So what can we do to improve the gameday experience?”

“Well,” Taylor started, stroking his chin. “We can heckle the other team, that’s always fun. Or, we can come up with personalized cheers for all our teammates and annoy all the reporters. How does that sound?”

“Chorns, I would love nothing more.”

Their cheers were not good, by any means. Cheers for TJ were “What a babe!” Cheers for Tom were “Crack the whip!” Beags was “Hound ‘em!” Ovi was “Oh captain, my captain!” And Nicky was “Who’s your Backy?” Admittedly, they were all horrible, but it was the heart behind them that mattered.

“Aw man, look, the Sportsnet guy is giving me the dirtiest look right now.”

“Oh yeah, that guy’s kind of a dick. He hates fun.” Taylor paused and leaned in close to Nate. “You wanna piss him off even more?”

Nate grinned. “Absolutely.”

“Let’s sing.”

It was as if Taylor had told Nate they’d won a lifetime supply of puppies. His face brightened, and he threw his arm around Taylor’s shoulders and started crooning “Sweet Caroline.”

“Were you prepared for this or something?” Taylor asked as he and Nate started to sway.

“If you don’t think I am always ready to sing ‘Sweet Caroline’ at a moment’s notice, clearly you don’t know me at all,” Nate responded. He continued his serenade of Neil Diamond.

Taylor shrugged and joined in, up until the moment the team pulled out a win, and the two of them switched to “We Are the Champions.”

* * *

When Jakub heard Enya blasting from the press box, he knew he was in for an interesting night.

He entered and found Chorns sitting on the floor cross-legged (impressive, given he was wearing a tailored suit), his eyes closed, and his fingers closed into an _O_ lying across his legs.

“Hey, Chorns,” Jakub whispered, not wanting to disrupt whatever mood was going on in here. “What’s happening?”

Chorns peeped open one eye and looked at Jakub. “Hello, V. Nice to see you. We’re doing meditation and yoga tonight.”

“Uhh...what?”

“Come and sit in front of me, Jake. Let’s take this journey together.”

Hesitantly, Jakub sat down on the not-as-clean-as-he’d-like floor in front of Chorns, waiting on further instruction.

“Now close your eyes and take a deep breath.” Chorns took in a big inhale in tune with the beautiful yet haunting Enya song playing in the background. Jakub followed.

“Keep breathing, in and out with counts of eight.”

He’d thought this was silly at first, but now he saw why Chorns was doing it - he was unbelievably relaxed. Despite all the arena clamor going on in the building, he felt like he was on a sunny beach somewhere. It was peaceful. He could sit and breathe like this forever.

“Alright, now the downward dog.”

Suddenly, he was brought out of his reverie. “Excuse me?”

“Downward dog, V, keep up.” Suddenly Chorns was on all fours and contorting himself into a yoga pose. “Come on, _yoga_ , let’s go.”

Jakub scrambled to match the poses Chorns was doing. “Are you sure we should be doing this in suits?” he asked.

“We’re just doing beginner stuff, we’ll be fine.”

Over the next however many minutes, Chorns had led Jakub in every dog pose imaginable, along with every single yoga pose he’d ever heard of. Jakub had contorted his body into many shapes he’d never had to use for hockey. And when it was over, he wasn’t tired or sore, per se, but he felt as if he’d accomplished something, even if he wasn’t sure what it was.

“That was different,” he commented.

“Clears the mind and keeps the body fresh,” Chorns said, standing up and stretching out his arms. “I think Trotz should start incorporating it into the practice routine.” He went over to the basket and started pulling out food. “You want anything? I’ve got salmon bites, your favorite.”

“Oh, thank you,” Jakub said, touched. He plucked one from the basket. “Can you turn off the Enya? The game’s starting.”

“No can do, compadre. Enya’s good for the soul, I’m keeping it on.”

Jakub didn’t really think Enya fit with the mood of a hockey game, but he wasn’t going to argue with a man who’d gone out of his way to make him his favorite food.

* * *

Personally, Devante was down for more fun in hockey. So many of the teams he’d been on previously were so stuffy, and any fun was a welcome change of pace. So what if they were weird? Embrace the weird. If that fun came by way of activities in the press box, who was he to judge?

Devante slid into his seat next to Chorns in the press box and rapped his fingers on the counter. “So, what do we have in store today, Chorns?”

“I have something extra-special today, Devo,” Chorns proclaimed. “Today, we are playing game bingo.”

Devante was intrigued. “Bingo?”

Chorns pointed at Devante and declared, “Bingo!” He reached into his box and pulled out a stack of paper and a few pens. “I have made game cards for hockey bingo, each one different. All of the squares are things we might hear or see during the game tonight. Here, take a card, any one you like.”

Devante took one off the top. “You are a beauty, I hope you know that.”

He took a look at some of the squares. _Willy gets into a fight_ ; _Ovi scores a power play goal_ ; _the sound guys play Eye of the Tiger_ ; _Beags wins 75% of his faceoffs_ ; _Holts douses himself with water_ ; _Snarls kills a man_ ; _Kuzy dangles for a goal_ ; _Conno flies into the boards_ ; _the arena cam catches something embarrassing_ ; _Oshbabe trips on his own skates_ ; _Ovi and Backy eye-fuck_ ; along with many more.

“Wow, you really put a lot of effort into this, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. I thought about personalizing for each opponent, but that might be overkill.”

“Hey man, you do you. All I know is that I’m gonna crush you.”

“In your dreams.”

The next two hours resulted in cheers and groans, shouting for Willy to just drop the fucking gloves already, and endless arguments over what did or did not count as eye-fucking. Devante ended up winning bingo in the dying seconds of the game when Dima crushed an opposing player into the boards.

He shoved his bingo card into Chorns’s face. “BINGO!”

* * *

The second Chiasson walked into the the press box he started to turn on his heel and walk out. He couldn’t deal with this. Not today.

“Chaser!” Crap, he saw him, he was done for.

Chaser gathered every ounce of his emotional strength and turned to face Chorns, who was currently sitting on a giant, gawdy throne that had somehow found its way into the press box. It was purple velvet, about three times the size of a regular chair, and adorned with gold and diamond trim. Chorns himself was wearing a faux fur coat, was holding a plastic scepter, and had a Burger King crown atop his head. Currently he was looking down upon Chiasson with all the false authority in the world. Notching an assist last night had really over-inflated his ego.

“Chorns, why is there a throne in here?” he asked, knowing he probably wasn’t going to get a straight answer.

“Silence, fool!” Chorns bellowed. “How dare you question me!”

Chiasson sighed. “What in the world are you doing?”

“I _said_ : how _dare_ you question me!” Chorns repeated. “I am the _king_ of this press box, and now I am going to act like it!”

Chiasson started muttering in French.

“Are you talking bad about your king?!” Chorns exploded. “That’s not allowed! You shall be beheaded!”

Chiasson rolled his eyes. This nonsense was getting more and more ludicrous by the day. He sat down in the regular-sized chair next to the throne. He pulled out a crossword book and some croissants from the basket and got to work, ignoring King Chorney’s tirade about monarchical respect. As his head pounded, he prayed that he would get into the lineup next game so that this would be somebody else’s problem.

* * *

Nathan knew that it was a blessing to be up with an NHL team at all, so he didn’t mind being scratched some of the time. Just the experience practicing with the team was more than he could ever ask for, and knowing that he was Australia’s first ever NHL player was a badge of honor he’d never put away. So he didn’t mind watching games from the press box. Besides, Chorney always made the box incredibly fun. All those lights and games and lively chit-chat were more than they ever had in Hershey.

So when he entered the press box to find Chorney huddled in a cave made of pillows, he was surprised, to say the least.

The activity box was still up on the counter, but none of the lights were up, nor was his sign. Nathan knew something was wrong even before he saw the handwritten sign atop the pillows that read “Shame Cave.”

Nathan slowly approached the cave and knelt down next to it. “Uh...Chorns? You alright?”

“Hi, Walks,” Chorns’ muffled voice floated from under the pillows. “Physically, I am just fine. But emotionally, no. I am hiding from the world in a cave of shame.”

“Yeah, I can, uh, see that.” His eyes flickered to the terrible handwriting of the Shame Cave sign. “But why?”

“I’ve fallen into a depression.”

Nathan got skeptical. “Are you really depressed? Cause then we need to get you some help. Or are you just upset?”

The pillows were silent for awhile. “I’m upset.”

“I thought so. So what’s wrong?”

“I can’t tell you, it’s embarrassing.”

“Chorns, do you not see the people we share this team with? As a team, we do embarrassing things on a daily basis. I guarantee you there are at least five guys who today have done something more embarrassing than whatever you’re hung up on.”

The pillows sighed. “Alright. Well...I lost a bet.”

“Uh-huh.”

“To Kuzy.”

Uh-oh. “...and?”

“I had to be his man-servant for the past three days.”

“Oh.”

“I have lugged so much shit, cooked so much weird shit, and I have seen the way he decorates his home. It’s, uh, eclectic.”

“I mean, that doesn’t sound that bad.”

“He also used me as transport in and out of Kettler and the arena. I’m like a horse or something, he’s been using me for piggyback rides. And dude is not small.”

“Well, that’s not fun, but it could be worse…”

“He made me shave my eyebrows.”

Nathan stopped. “Excuse me?”

“Another caveat on our bet. I don’t have eyebrows anymore. I look like a potato. I’ve been hiding in the shame cave, I can’t bear to show my face.”

Nathan made a mental note never to get into a bet with Kuzy. “Eyebrows will grow back, mate. It’ll just be a few days of shame and then you can move on with your life.”

“I guess.”

Nathan went to give Chorns a reassuring slap on the shoulder before he remembered he was hidden under a mound of pillows, so he just awkwardly patted the nearest pillow. “Liven up, mate. You know how Kuzy is, he just likes to have fun. You can get back at him later. Or maybe band together with about four other people and attempt to do so. Anyway, will you come out of those pillows now? The game’s about to start.”

“No. I’m, uh, not ready to come out just yet. I wanna lie here a little longer. You go ahead and settle in, I made you some fairy bread again.”

“I am still amazed at how you learned how to make it almost exactly like my mother did,” Nathan said as he stood up. “Well, you have fun under there, and I’m gonna hang up the lights. It’s depressing in here.”

* * *

“Stevo, how good are you at arts and crafts?”

Chandler looked up from the whale he’d been drawing. “I don’t know, Chorns. You see this whale? It’s a pretty sick whale. I’d say my skills are pretty average,” he boasted. “Why do you ask?”

“Because,” he pulled out what looked to be some kind of jewelry kit out of the box. “I’m going to be making everyone on the team a friendship bracelet. Or a ‘team bracelet’ if your masculinity is offended. You wanna help? We have a lot of guys.”

“Honestly, if my masculinity was going to be offended, I would have stopped listening the second you pulled out the beading stuff,” Chandler said. “Sure, I can help. My girlfriend used to do this stuff all the time. Let’s get cracking.”

Chorns seemed incredibly excited that Chandler actually went along with his idea instead of immediately shooting him down. “Awesome! Now, here’s what I have in mind.”

Ultimately, the bracelets were a red corded base with a couple of blue and white beads, some weagle charms, and each person’s nickname in alphabet beads on his own bracelet. It was simple yet stylish, and eventually they got a rhythm going.

“Who have you done so far?” Chorns asked.

“I’ve done...Mads, Holts, Kuzy, Juicer, V, and Burky. You?”

“I’ve done Willy, Brooksie, Grubi, Devo, Lar, and Nisky. I’m currently working on Carly, and I’m doing Ovi, Backy, Oshbabe, and you, Stevo.”

“Well, that means I’ve got Conno, Chaser, Dima, Beags, and, of course, the mastermind himself, Chorns.”

“Me?”

“Yes, of course, you. You’re a part of this team, aren’t you? Of course you’re getting one.”

Chorns shrugged. “I guess I just didn’t even think about myself. I just wanted to do something for the guys, give you guys something from me in case something happens.”

“In case something happens?” Chandler sat up and gave him a quizzical look. “You sound very morbid.”

“It’s hockey, man. You never know what could change.”

“Just relax man. Enjoy the ride. We’re a team, and I’m making you a bracelet whether you like it or not.”

“What are you gonna do if I don’t accept? Give me a one-star rating?”

“Last time I did that you made me sit out in the hallway the whole game. Not doing that again.”

* * *

Something was off. It was much too quiet at Kettler that morning. The air that was usually lively and full of laughter was cold and stagnant. There was no chatter, no excitement. It was hard to place, but something was wrong.

Madison liked to get in some extra work if he could, so he usually arrived fairly early. But he was never the first person there; that title was reserved for Chorns. Taylor was a workhorse; he was the first person on the ice and last person off, skating harder and longer than anyone else even if he never cracked the lineup. He was just that kind of guy.

Madison showed up to Kettler around the same time he usually did. He parked in the same place, said hi to the same attendants, took the same route to the locker room. But this time, as he walked by the practice ice, he didn’t see Chorns out there getting some work in. Strange, but not unexplainable - Chorns had a little kid, and little kids were unpredictable. He could easily be at home with his family. Madison didn’t worry too much, but something still felt off.

He changed into his gear and got to work on the ice. Slowly, more and more guys joined him. Today was an optional skate, and there weren’t a lot of them out here. The young guys, habitual scratches, goalies, and a few assorted others. But as time passed and Grubi assured them that there was no one else in the locker room, Madison didn’t see Chorns out on the ice, and red flags started to go up in his head. Chorns was _always_ at practice. He may have been a rookie, but he knew that Chorney never missed a practice. Something was definitely wrong.

When practice was over, they all left the ice and piled back into the locker room, and there they saw a chilling sight: Chorney’s locker had been cleared out.

Madison needed answers. He asked the guys around him if they knew what happened to Chorns, but Juicer and Chandler were no help. Of course today was an optional skate and not a lot of the older guys were around. He went around to every guy in the room, and, eventually, he got an answer.

“Holts, do you know what happened to Chorns?” he asked.

Holtby spoke softly and somberly. “Chorns got waived.”

Madison felt like someone had twisted his stomach into knots. “Oh.”

Trotz broke the news to the guys a little later. Chorney had been placed on waivers. His locker and stuff had been cleared out, and he and his family were preparing to move somewhere, whether that be to Hershey or wherever waivers may take him. But they couldn’t dwell on that too much, they had a game to play tonight. Needless to say, the mood in the locker room was heavy for the rest of the day, and they lost their game that night.

Madison couldn’t help but feel a little bit guilty somehow. After the team had acquired more defensemen, he knew there wasn’t room for everyone to stay on the roster. And since Juicer was too good, he knew it was either him or Chorns on the short end of the stick. To be frank, he kind of expected it to be him. He was a rookie, and he was waiver-exempt. But he stayed. That said a lot about the team’s confidence in him, but he still felt a little bad. Everyone loved Chorns, and now he was gone.

* * *

About a week or so had passed since Chorns was waived. It was a quieter place since he’d gone. And with him had gone the box of press box fun. The press box was quieter, colder, darker, and downright depressing at times. There wasn’t an upside to being a scratch anymore. Madison had gotten to know Jerabek a lot better, and he was spending more time with V and Chaser, all of whom were consistently getting scratched along with him, but it wasn’t the same as passing your scratched days in Chorney’s press box. Nothing was quite like Chorney’s press box.

Madison walked into the arena with Juicer. The team was playing Ottawa tonight, but they knew they were getting scratched. Barring any injuries in warm-ups, tonight it would be them, Chaser, and their old friend Travis Boyd, just called up from Hershey, occupying the press box.

But as they entered the locker room, he saw something strange in front of his locker. It was a giant cardboard box, sitting on the floor in front of his stall.

“Juicer, what the fuck is that?” Madison asked as he approached the box.

“Did you order something?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Madison inspected the box. It was sealed up tight, but there was no marking or shipping label. He had no idea what this was or who might have sent it. “Help me open this up.”

“If this is poison and we die, I’m blaming you.”

It took a lot of effort, but with their combined effort, they got the tape off and managed to pry the box open. They peered inside and found a bunch of stuff that was very familiar to Madison.

“Hang on…” Madison started rummaging through its contents. “Pillows, blankets…”

Juicer joined him. “Puzzles, pens, muffins…”

“Could this be…?” He and Juicer locked eyes. “No, it couldn’t...but what else could it be?”

Juicer picked up one of the puzzle books and started flipping through it. “Yeah, this is it. Remember how he used to have us write our names on all the puzzles we did?” He passed the book to Madison, who began to flip through the pages. Sure enough, there were names scribbled on the pages of every completed puzzle. Nate Schmidt, Jakub Vrana, Aaron Ness, Zach Sanford, Daniel Winnik, Brett Connolly, Alex Chiasson, Tyler Graovac, Devante Smith-Pelly, Chandler Stephenson, Nathan Walker, Christian Djoos, Madison Bowey. This was Taylor Chorney’s press box kit.

“Fuck, this is Chorns’s press box stuff? He sent it here? Why?” Madison asked, continuing to look through the box. Yup, it was all there.

“There’s a note here,” Juicer said. He pulled a slip of paper out from the bottom of the box. “It’s addressed to you.” He handed it to Madison.

“Me?” He took the note from Juicer and began to read Chorns’s bad handwriting.

_Mads,_

_Sorry this took so long. Getting to Columbus was hectic, hope you can understand. I took some time, but I realized that you guys can get a lot more use out of this than I can. I had Haley send the box over so that you guys could have it. Keep the fun going in the press box. Just because I’m gone doesn’t mean the party has to stop. I feel like I’m a grandpa passing my stuff down to the next generation. You kids are awesome and super talented, and you deserve this. Go nuts, keep the magic going. I left my sign in there, but you don’t have to use it. It’s your box now._

_Dmen forever,_

_Chorns_

Madison almost teared up reading the note. He may not have gotten into the game much, but anyone who said Taylor Chorney wasn’t an integral part of the team and one of the best people around was lying.

He and Juicer carried the box up to the press box with them that night. They hung up the lights, put a pillow in every seat, and hooked up the sound system. The press box started to feel like home again.

And even though Chorns said they didn’t have to use the sign anymore, they hung it up anyway. Chorns may be gone, but this would always be his press box. They hung up the sign in the same place it always was, reading, _WELCOME TO CHORNEY’S PRESS BOX. Make yourself at home :)_ just as proudly as before.

And they never sat in his chair. It seemed wrong for anyone to use it. The fake-gold plaque still remained attached, and there it stayed. And the chair remained empty. So even though he was gone, it still felt like he was there with them.

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously I took creative liberties with the favorite foods that I included for some of the guys, but I tried my best to estimate based on where the guys are from. I did a lot of googling and research and tried to find appropriate foods.  
> Zach Sanford is from Massachusetts, and whoopie pies are a New England classic.  
> I gave Brett Connolly Nanaimo bars, which are from and named after Nanaimo, a city on Vancouver Island, the same island Connolly is from.  
> Jello salad is popular in Minnesota, which is where Nate Schmidt is from.  
> Jakub Vrana is different; in one Caps program there was a feature that said his favorite food was salmon, so I used that.  
> Croissants are from France, Alex Chiasson is French-Canadian, and also his name kind of sounds like croissant.  
> And finally, I discovered that fairy bread is a thing from Australia, so I made it Nathan Walker's favorite.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment below, let me know what you think, I will read them all and look to improve my writing in the future.


End file.
